


Man's Best Friend

by khaleesian



Category: PAW Patrol
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 12:11:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13053729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khaleesian/pseuds/khaleesian
Summary: Mayor Goodway has her suspicions





	Man's Best Friend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Longpig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Longpig/gifts).



She woke up gasping, desperately digging her fingers in to the wrinkles of the bedclothes. She’d dreamt that she was floating out in the bay, adrift on dense flotsam of kelp and seaweed. She blinked into the darkness as her heart slowly stopped pounding. After a moment, she slid out of bed and crossed to the French doors. The moon had set but the Lookout Tower still glowed faintly on the horizon.

She stepped out onto the balcony and felt the press of thickened air, making her gown cling to her. The unexpected warm air tickled her growing sense of unease. She took a deep breath. It was just the Chinook blowing. Hence the headache and the faint sense of…something. Dislocation, like she hadn’t truly woken up.

She clasped the railing and felt reassured by the firmness of the wood. She blinked up at the Lookout Tower and the odd sense of disorientation grew. How long had she been standing here? How long had she been living here? How long had the tower loomed overhead?

A soft rustle by her ankle made her stiffen. Chickaletta clucked up at her with a tone of mild reproof as she glanced down and sighed in relief. Mayor Goodway let the chicken nudge her back inside, back into her rocking chair. The warm weight on her lap and the soft brush of feathers slowly soothed the lingering sense of disquiet.

Her mind sent up one last signal flare as she drifted off. _Jack. Jackson._

****

She made her way down the promenade, using the unseasonable warmth as an excuse to take the slow route to City Hall. The morning had dawned with a sparkling gold mist as the sun was veiled by the remains of the warming marine layer. Adventure Bay glowed and she felt an upwelling of her usual fondness for it. Ryder and Chase buzzed by her, their shouted greetings echoing in the still air.

Traffic seemed unusually subdued and even the surf shushed up the sand more quietly than usual. She almost ran into Danny who was staring dejectedly out to sea.

“Oh!” She pulled up short, schooling her expression into her usual bland benevolence. “I didn’t see you, Danny.”

“Hi Mayor Goodway.” He hitched his surfboard up. “I was gonna go kite-surfing but this weather is…weird, huh?”

“The Chinook only lasts a few days, Danny.” She breathed an inward sigh of relief that they had a few days respite from Danny’s next unwitting suicide attempt. Ryder and the pups had barely saved him from his last stunt.

“I guess.” Danny looked uncertain. “I don’t remember ever…”

“Just a few days!” She interrupted brightly and pantomimed being in a tearing hurry. Her head was beginning to throb. “Come along, Chickaletta!”

She suppressed an eyeroll as soon as she passed him. Danny’s adolescence was taking a distinct toll on Adventure Bay. ‘Daring Danny X’ indeed! Why couldn’t he be more responsible and level-headed like Ryder? Danny had to be at least sixteen to Ryder’s…her brisk gait slowed as the thought penetrated. How old was Ryder exactly? More importantly, why had she never considered the question before?

“Greetings, Mayor Goodway.” Captain Turbot called from the base of the pier. She forced herself to smile brightly at him, noticing almost in passing that his smile also seemed a bit more dutiful than sincere.

“Good morning, Horatio,” she fluted. “I thought you’d be out on the Bay by now.”

“Oh well…” Captain Turbot glanced out at the shimmering water and paused mid-shrug. “I seem to be parsing a paucity of perspicacity this morning.”

Mayor Goodway barely kept herself from wincing. That was a bit egregious, even for the good captain. She felt her headache pulse. “How are Wally and…” She gestured vaguely.

“Fine!” He squinted out to sea while the sun turned his spectacles to white disks. He made a vague gesture and then stood silently for what became an awkward length of time.

“Captain?” She wanted to make her excuses and leave quickly, but a sudden sluggishness had enveloped her. The rhythmic gentle roll of the waves underneath was almost hypnotic. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“I was thinking about remora.” He replied, surprisingly toneless. “Cleaner shrimp. Funny thing about the Chinook blowing in today.”

She made some sound of acknowledgement, reflexively stroking Chickaletta’s back as the chicken stirred restlessly in her handbag.

“Have you ever heard of the _cymothoa exingua_ , Mayor Goodway?” Captain Turbot continued, staring out at the horizon.

“Why, no…is that a…” she started, feeling an unaccountable moment of arbitrary anxiety at the peculiar name.

A gentle bark carried over the sound of the waves slapping the pilings. “Ruff, ruff, can I help you with anything, Captain Turbot?”

They peered over the pier at Zuma gently floating in his Hovercraft, expertly keeping situated despite the turning tide. Captain Turbot called out a greeting and obligingly knelt down to chat while the Mayor waved herself away. She walked slowly until she was back on the sidewalk, practicing her smile until she got it right.

***

Mr. Porter took her lunch order without his usual flourish. She had to remind him to tell her the specials.

“Sorry, Mayor Goodway. I don’t know where my head is today.” Mr. Porter rubbed one eyelid gingerly. “Must be a little under the weather.”

He retreated while nodding politely at Mayor Humdinger who sat dejectedly at a nearby table. Mayor Goodway steeled herself and sang a cheerful greeting. She was meanly glad when he grimaced in pain at her elevated voice.

“How are your kittens, Mayor Humdinger?” She warbled, trying to feel the cheer that her voice reflected.

“Why don’t you ask them?” He snapped, then seemed to reconsider. “They don’t like this weather.”

“The Chinook only blows for…” she began.

“…a couple of days, I know.” Mayor Humdinger pressed his thumbs into his temples. “I’m fourth generation too.”

That drew her up short. She forgot that sometimes…or did she? They’d been at school together, hadn’t they? He’d been such a jolly fellow once, she could vaguely remember his practical jokes and easy smile. It had been so long since he’d grown the moustache and turned so hateful…years, perhaps. What had happened?

“What indeed?” He smirked at her and she realized she’d spoken the last bit aloud. “I wonder myself sometimes.”

He looked out from the terrace down to the curve of the bay. “Sometimes I can’t keep my thoughts on track lately. I get so distracted. Or…” He wiped his brow. “perhaps somehow, **I’m** the distraction…” he trailed off.

“Surely…” she started only to be interrupted by a gentle bark. Skye stood at her side, panting lightly and wagging her tail.

Mayor Goodway stared rudely for a moment. Was it completely normal for cockapoos to have violet eyes? The thought was buried as Skye asked, “Ryder wanted to know if you needed any help for this afternoon, Mayor Goodway.”

“This afternoon?” She repeated, puzzled, until the memory dawned and she clapped her hands. “This afternoon, yes, the celebration! Of course!”

Skye beamed at her. “How can we help?”

“Why don’t you ask Mr. Porter and Farmer Yumi if they need any help with the catering.” Mayor Goodway pursed her lips and wracked her brain. Skye waited politely for a moment, then when no further instruction was forthcoming, bolted off.

Mayor Goodway turned back to Mayor Humdinger who was unhappily stroking his luxurious moustache. His eyes had shuttered and she debated attempting to re-start their conversation. Mr. Porter brought her salad and his sandwich just as she opened her mouth and they ate in silence at their separate tables, staring out at the bay.

Mayor Goodway patted some money onto the bill, feeling unexpectedly morose. “Shall we see you this afternoon, Humdinger?”

He shrugged, “I think the whole thing is ridiculous, but if it’s anything like your normal spread, I’ll be there.”

She bristled and then decided not to bother. A sudden impulse struck her. “Does the name Jack or Jackson mean anything to you?”

He frowned and shook his head. She settled her hat and her purse and prepared to swan off regally when he called softly at her back, “Oliver. Oliver Jackson.”

****

She left Chickaletta in a post-prandial snooze in a comfortable corner of her office and slunk across the square to the library. She breathed in the still, stale air for a moment and then examined the signs. Records were in the basement, naturally. She sighed and trudged down the stairs.

She grimaced at the computer terminals which looked like they came from another planet, not just another era. Unconsciously, she stroked a hand over her sleek phone. All of the tech that Ryder had gifted her with was so intuitive and aesthetically pleasing that anything else looked even more shabby and confusing in comparison. She settled herself into a chair and began pecking at the keyboard.

After a few moments, she sat back and stared at the screen. Jackson, Oliver brought up a long scrolling list of citations and quotes going back to…well, that wasn’t important. One of the articles had a photograph and she pulled it up and tried to quell the growing sense of unease. So there had been a sheriff once…a catchall title in a town this size, comprising both chief of police and head of emergency services. And he’d been a fixture until a few short years ago when the clockwork citations stopped abruptly.

One of the articles had a tiny icon that indicated a photo attached. She clicked on the link and eased back in the uncomfortable chair. She stared until the dim flicker of the computer screen started to make her eyes water.  Not because the man in the photo was so familiar and friendly-looking (though he was) but her own younger self gazed straight at the camera through the grainy gray pixels and the years with a hawk-like intensity that Mayor Goodway couldn’t find in her current reflection in the screen. The younger woman didn’t have a trace of her current cheer and comfortable complacency. ‘A lean and hungry look’ as Shakespeare would have it.

 

She chewed on her lower lip until she heard Ryder calling and Chickaletta’s faint squawk. She quickly closed the browser windows and stood up, wincing. Her feet had fallen asleep.

****

She emerged into bright sunlight, blinking at the transformation of the town square. The streetlights had been festooned with…cornucopias? She stepped closer to examine the cone stuffed with flowers and cleverly wired to the pole.  She realized that it was an old traffic cone now sealed at the bottom and re-painted a festive hue.

“Do you like them, Mayor Goodway?”  Came a shy voice from her feet.

“Oh, Rocky!” She paused for a long moment and chose her words. “Very resourceful of you and they do look lovely.”

“Don’t lose…,” he started.

“…it, re-use it!” She finished with him, feeling oddly tired. “How did you come up with the idea?”

He seemed a little surprised at the question. She was a little surprised herself; it was normally so easy to hand out meaningless praise and go on with all the other big and small pieces that made up her day.

“Some of Chase’s cones got a little banged up.” He scratched behind one ear. “It…would…bother me to think that everything has just one purpose in life. It just seems…one-dimensional. Not worthy of you…of us, I mean.”

She frowned and was about to ask again when she realized they were beckoning her up to the bandstand. She made her way around the cheering crowd to mount the steps and tried to focus her thoughts. What was this particular celebration about? Art festival? Harvest festival? Park inauguration? There seemed to be an endless stream of events crowding her calendar, endless opportunities for joy and camaraderie.

Or…distraction. She almost missed a step up on the stage. As she gazed out at all the upturned faces, she couldn’t help thinking of how simply…bovine they all looked, wearing almost identical pleased looks. Faces of people who never worried, never suffered for very long, never experienced any lasting tragedy. As she waved at everyone, borne up by their applause, her eyes caught on the dogs dotted throughout the crowd, their joyful, bright eyes distinct. A thought struck her… _not cows, sheep_.

She swallowed hard to force a breath back into her lungs. She managed to conjure up a dazzling smile and gave herself over to the energy of her people. What else was there to do?

“Let’s hear it for Adventure Bay!”

***

She had pup-pup-boogied herself into a near stupor, but she still woke three hours before dawn with her heart pounding. Her dreams had been a deep mire of dread and memory that still sucked at her as she sat up with a sudden flash of insight.

She moved to the window and twitched back the curtain to gaze up at the radiant column of the Lookout Tower. So vigilant they were. Never faltering, never wavering or equivocating. Faithful as…dogs.

She was afraid of heights, but she’d been up in the Tower. Their relentless competence made it easy to cast even the most irrational phobias aside. People fear what they don’t understand. They don’t fear the innocent, the familiar, the beloved. And what was easier to love and trust than puppies and children? Concurrently, what was easier to dismiss and overlook?

It seemed like every year there were more dogs and less anxiety. She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth wondering at how quickly she’d adjusted to never having to solve her own problems. It was all just a little too _easy. Just yelp for help_.

She stepped gingerly out onto the terrace, as if an unguarded footfall could wake the hounds. What was the purpose of it all? The technology that defied all physics, the slow acceptance that animals were far more sentient than they’d ever realized…it all became a kaleidoscope of theories and paranoid alien fantasies whirling in her brain.

She happened to glance back down the hill and felt her skin prickle with adrenaline. Where she expected to see the blank, darkened eyes of windows there were row upon row of faces, pale shadows, dark shadows behind the glass, swaying slowly as if sleepwalking, transfixed by the glow of the Tower.

Chickaletta clucked at her feet and she clenched her fists in the drapes and dared a look down into the oddly pale silvered eyes of her chicken. Chickaletta gazed back at her and Mayor Goodway felt herself teetering on the precipice of a blood-curdling awareness, a vision of breathtaking scope with the most modest of means.

She’d often thought that the world would profit from being more like Adventure Bay. It came to her that she had un-looked for allies who were determined to _make it so._

She took a deep breath, then the breeze strengthened and freshened as the air swirled up off the bay. She took another breath and her heart began to slow. She blinked. The pale faces down the hillside seemed to relax and slowly retreat into the darkness once again. She stroked a hand over her darling pet and everything was normal once again.

 

 


End file.
